


Look Up and See the Stars

by roebling



Category: B.A.P, K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Cyberpunk, Gen, Hacking, TheBrownieBunch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 02:04:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2251773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roebling/pseuds/roebling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life in the Pit isn't great, but Youngjae keeps his head down and works hard and has built up a pretty decent reputation for himself as a hacker. He's not looking for any trouble, but the next thing he knows there's a Republic spy in his shop and trouble has found him. Space AU~</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look Up and See the Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mintea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintea/gifts).



> This is for Yuyu <3333 I really really really hope you enjoy it. It was actually supposed to be about space pirate Yongguk and his navigator Jieun, but that ended up being too long a story for me to tell in a short time. I have so much more in my head about this universe, but i hope you enjoy this tiny little slice <333 For [TheBrownieBunch Round 3](http://thebrowniebunch.livejournal.com/)
> 
> Thank you also to D for the beta, all remaining errors (and I am sure there are some ;__;) are my own fault. Thank you also to J for letting me ramble at her almost endlessly and being fantastic <3
> 
> And thank you also also to C for being a great co-mod for TheBrownieBunch and to all the participating authors for being awesome!!

Youngjae sits on a discarded cargo crate, unnoticed amidst the general bustle of the star port. The morning had been slow, so he came up here for a change of pace. Now he’s not sure why he did. High up, many hundreds of meters further up still, beyond the tallest rusted girders that hold the atmospheric generators in place, small craft hover around the feet of a huge star freighter. The crew unloads more cargo containers like the one Youngjae is sitting on. As soon as space is cleared, containers of ore fill it. 

Asteroid DELTA 5606323-1 - affectionately known to locals as the Pit - is the only habitable station in this sector of space, and it is a hub of activity for the local mining outfits. Still, this far out, nearly in the black nothingness of never-never, they’re not likely to see a freighter this size again for many months. The Galactic Republic controls the flight schedules, and the shipping routes are an absolute secret. When the Republic decides it’s time to send the people of DELTA 5606323-1 another shipment of expired sanitizing agent or slightly defective pipe couplings, or whatever other junk the Republic decides to foist off on them under the pretense of meeting its obligation to keep all space settlements “well and properly equipped with the necessities for life.” 

Youngjae snorts. Good joke. None of the garbage the Republic sends is a necessity for life, but in the Pit, the prevailing attitude is that it’s better to shut up and be grateful for what they’re sent. It’s not like complaining will do anything. 

Youngjae scowls up at the freighter and the dark of space beyond. Nothing out there ever did him any good. The spaceport had been a favorite place of Youngjae’s as a kid, and he’d begged his parents and his brother to take him up to see the ships. He’d dreamed then of traveling the length of the galaxy, winning fame and renown, and never looking back. Now his parents are dead and his brother is gone and he doesn’t think about any of that any more. 

He stands up. He shouldn’t have come up here. It’s just a waste of time, thinking about all this stuff. Life is hard enough, and daydreaming just makes it harder. 

\--

The normal, musical chime rings as the door opens. Youngjae looks up. No business all day, and now he has a customer? 

"Excuse me, but I’m closing now,” Youngjae says. “You can come back tomorrow morning.” 

A man stands in the doorway, tall enough and broad enough through the shoulders that he blocks out nearly all of the fluorescent light from the alley. He is wearing a smart black coat, and his black hair is pushed back from his face. He is not smiling.

"Is the owner in? I have some business with him."

Youngjae frowns. "I'm the owner." He tries to stand up a bit taller. “What can I help you with?” 

The stranger doesn't look impressed. "I was expecting someone a little older."

Youngjae knows he looks young for his age. "I'm old enough," he says, annoyed, "and I'm closing now, so if you have some work you want to discuss, you can come back tomorrow."

The man in the doorway laughs. He reaches into his coat, and for a second Youngjae thinks he's reaching for a gun. But instead the man pulls out a holo badge and holds it up lazily. The logo flickers. 

Shit. There's no mistaking the logo of the Galactic Intelligence Agency: a creepy unblinking eye that seems to contain all the secrets of the universe in its depths. It roves around the room, and Youngjae wonders if the rumors he's heard about those badges are true. They're said to be gathering more data, more secrets even while the agents who bear them sleep. 

And that’s hardly the strangest rumor about the Galactic Intelligence Agency and the people who bear its badge. Peepers is what kids call them, and that’s what Youngjae thinks of now: the shadowy childhood boogeyman who peered out from the darkest corners and could see everything you didn’t want him to. 

There’s no reason for a Peeper to be in Youngjae’s shop. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He keeps his head down and he minds his own business and he only skirts the boundaries of lawlessness. He could take this agent to another five shops engaged in a far more comprehensive variety of illegal pursuits: net-tapping and planting tracking devices and monitoring private drives. All these services and more are available, if you know where to look and who to ask. 

And if you’re willing to pay. 

"That's right," the man says. He steps into the shop and the door slides shut behind him. "Agent Kim Himchan." He holds out his hand.

Youngjae never thought that Peepers might have names, but of course they do. He shakes the man’s hand, nervous, but it feels like normal flesh and blood. 

"I'm here because you're supposed to be the best hacker on this rock."

Youngjae is secretly flattered, but suspicious. "I'm good enough. Don't you have your own people for this kind of thing? I don’t really have a large scale operation here." He gestures around his shop, which is barely ten by ten and is so crammed full of spare parts and equipment and debris that even with just the two of them it feels claustrophobic.

Agent Kim rolls his eyes. "Of course we do, but they're all back in more civilized parts of the galaxy. I need this information _now_."

His tone is pleasant, but Youngjae gets the distinct impression that Agent Kim Himchan is not someone used to being refused.

And it's not like Youngjae _can_ refuse. This is the Galactic Intelligence Agency. This is the real thing. You refuse something to these guys and you'll end up gathering stardust somewhere past Centaurus. Or worse.

"I can try, Agent Kim," Youngjae says at last. "Do my duty. My small part to keep the Galactic Republic strong. Fight the good fight. Uh -"

Agent Kim rolls his eyes. "Please," he says. "I've worked on miserable space rocks like this one my entire career. I know what people like you think about the Galactic Republic."

Youngjae swallows. "Um."

"And kid, call me Himchan. Agent Kim always makes me feel so old."

*****

Agent Kim … no, Himchan wants him to get started right away. From some other pocket of his capacious coat he produces a tiny silver solid-state disk. He holds it between his index finger and thumb. 

"Everything I tell you is utterly confidential," he begins. "You don't even want to know what will happen if you mention this to anyone. After I leave, you probably should just forget this ever happened." He looks around. "I can't say the accommodations are up to my standards, but I’ll be staying here until you’ve gotten every last byte of data out of this disk."

Youngjae huffs. "I make do." Conceited inner galaxy snob. He was probably raised on planet. The terrestrial-born are notoriously snobby - not that Youngjae’s ever met any before. Youngjae's shop is practically a mansion by his standards, and he's paid dearly to keep it. He makes do very well, with his futon folded away in the corner during the day, and spread out behind the counter at night. He could be sleeping in an alley or on some rusty, condemned platform, never sure if he’d wake up to find himself plunging hundreds of meters to his death. 

Himchan looks like he's trying to hide his distaste. He's not doing a very good job. "Well, then I suppose we'll just have to endure it." He leans back against the wall and shoves his hands in his pockets, all easy contempt. "You and I are going to be best buddies, at least until you crack that thing, so try to make it quick.” 

***

Youngjae takes two caffeine pills, because he's already tired. He shakes the jar. It's nearly empty. He doesn't like to rely on caffeine pills too often, but if a client is willing to offer up something extra for a same day job, he's willing to stay up all night to get it done. He normally gets his supply from an old woman a few alleyways over; he'll have to see if she needs anything work he can barter her for another bottle. 

He powers on his good machine. The disk that Himchan handed him is sitting on the counter. He slips it into the drive, and pulls up his command line. Himchan leans forward, elbows resting on the countertop, craning to look over Youngjae's shoulder. Youngjae isn't used to being watched while he works. He exhales, annoyed, but he doesn't say anything, because there's a Peeper _in his shop_. He just wants this over with without any further disaster so he can go back to being uninteresting and unnoticed. 

Youngjae executes his basic survey programs. These are old programs, the first he wrote when he started teaching himself cryptography, and he's improved them over the years. Now they are as familiar and comfortable as a favorite pair of shoes. They'll do some preliminary investigation, determine what type of encryption is being employed, and try some of the most common keys. Considering who's given him this file, he's not expecting any of those to work, but hey, maybe he'll get lucky. At least this should give him something to go on before he gets down to the hard work.

Himchan hums behind him. "So what are you doing now?" He's still too close, looking right over Youngjae's shoulder.

"Just running some preliminary scans," Youngjae says. "This is going to take a while. I mean, if they were using some simple ROT13 you'd have cracked it yourself, right?"

Himchan leans back and sniffs. "It's not my job to crack the file," he says. "I got the disk. You're doing your government a great service by cracking it for me."

Youngjae has always had a little bit of a smart mouth. "ROT13 is what my little cousin uses to encrypt her diary," he says dryly.

"I'm not a _data_ person," Himchan says, making it sound like the worst kind of slur. 

The programs run. Youngjae takes up his laptop and starts working on the job he'd been in the middle of when Himchan came in. It's just a simple data recovery: an unscrupulous landlord comes to a tenant to ask him to vacate some prime real estate over near the market. The tenant refuses. The landlord comes back with a law suit for back rent. The tenant, who's always paid in full and on time, discovers the drive with his copy of the lease on it has been corrupted. 

It’s a common scam in the Pit, especially for newcomers. 

Youngjae likes it when he can help out the good guy, but he's not going to pretend he's particularly scrupulous. You can’t be when you live on some nearly abandoned mining station back of beyond. If the landlord had offered more, Youngjae would have been just as willing to write a program to corrupt the file permanently. 

Himchan is poking around at some of the equipment on the shelves by the door. In addition to general data management services, Youngjae also does a fair trade in recycled drives and disks and ... well, anything really. If it can be stripped down and sold he'll take it, fix it, and trade it to someone else. 

"Hey," Youngjae says. "Some of that stuff is valuable. Be careful." His seeker program has just located the files on the tenant's drive.

Himchan sets the drive in his hand back on the self. "Hm. Looks like junk to me."

Youngjae shakes his head. "You must be terrestrial, right?"

Himchan is silent for a moment. "If I were terrestrial - not that I am going to tell you anything about myself - what difference would it make?"

Youngjae shrugs. "None, I guess. Just ... You don't know what life is like out here. _Everything_ is valuable. Do you think we have credit? I can trade that for a couple of week's worth of nutrient bars." He pauses to type out another command to save the files off the corrupted drive and begin the rebuilt. "Besides," he says. "You already told me your name."

"I told you a name," Himchan says. "You don't know if it's mine, do you?" His voice is light, and he smiles. 

Youngjae nods. Himchan doesn’t seem like a very threatening person. He is jovial and smiling, but he’s holding all the cards and Youngjae has no way of knowing if any of what he says is true. 

“Just kidding,” Himchan says, after a moment. “That really is my name. Kim Himchan, at your service.” He waits as though he’s expecting some response, but Youngjae just frowns and looks down to his laptop to keeps working. 

***

The survey programs finish running a little after two in the morning. Youngjae is keeping himself busy - or pretending to - browsing some forums he frequents, looking to see if any other cryptographers have been paid unexpected visits by Peepers in the last few weeks. Usually there’s nothing unflattering or anecdotal on the net about the GIA, Peepers, or any other agency, branch, department or division of the Galactic Republic. Someone - the GIA or some other even more shadowy and ominous agency - scrubs that all right away. But these forums are invitation only, hosted on some machine out past Solux way, and you need a special VPN client to even get to the login page. They’re supposed to be an arena for free thinking and free speech. 

Youngjae’s not so sure. Nobody mentions anything particularly out of the ordinary, and Youngjae doesn't want to post. He’s not taking any chances. 

He stretches, cracking his back.

Himchan startles and knocks into a shelf. He’d fallen asleep.

Youngjae thinks of the last few caffeine pills in his bottle. Ah. At this point it's probably just better to get this all over with.

"Do you want a caff pill?"

Himchan wrinkles his nose. "Don't you have any coffee?"

Youngjae resists the urge to laugh. Coffee. Really? "The only place around here you can get coffee is the commissary."

Luxury good are reserved for people with government jobs and the credit lines that come with them, and there aren’t many government jobs on a rock like this one.

Himchan looks blank. "I’m assuming they’re not closed, correct? They operate on Galactic Standard Time?" 

"Yeah, they only take credit," Youngjae says. "Hey ... you aren't going to try to pay me with credit right? I operate on a strictly exchange basis."

"Who said I was going to pay you at all?" Himchan grins. He takes a black card out of his pocket: real, live government-issued credit, no limit. Youngjae's only heard about these. He wasn’t even sure they were real. "I will buy you a cup of coffee, though."

"I thought you wanted me to finish this."

Himchan rolls his eyes. "You're not doing anything right now. You’re just as bored as I am. Let the computers do whatever computer-y thing they're doing. I assume it's safe to leave it unattended? The ... obscurity was another reason your services were so attractive."

Himchan's sweet words almost make it sound like he's not insulting Youngjae. Almost. Still. Real coffee. That’s something new. 

"Okay," Youngjae says. "Fine. Your treat, then."

***

It's never really day in the Pit, and it's never really night - DELTA 5606323-1 is part of an interstellar asteroid belt and orbits nothing - but out of perverse nostalgia and in lieu of anything more relevant they operate on Solar time rather than Galactic Standard. Right now, it’s a little after three AM. Still, things are lively for the early hours of the morning.

Youngjae's stall neighbors a junk shop and a seedy electromeme parlor. The shop is quiet, but the parlor is full of people. Electromemes are popular in the Pit. For a nominal fee you can buy a full sensory immersive memory. When Youngjae was a kid it was popular to relive scenes from popular dramas and movies. Now memories of Old Earth are popular. The best electromeme parlors are said to produce such realistic, beautiful work that there are waiting lists for their top artists. This one - in a slum alleyway in one of the lowest platforms - is slightly less scrupulous about realism. Youngjae doesn't remember ever hearing that the sky on Old Earth was purple. The people blissfully zoned out in dreams that aren’t theirs don’t seem to care. 

Himchan keeps his hands in his pockets and his dark coat wrapped tightly around him. He doesn't look like he belongs here - not with his neat hair and his glossy leather shoes - but Youngjae is well enough known that nobody bothers them.

"We'll head up top through the second stairway," Youngjae says. He doesn't want everyone on the entire rock to see him walking around with a mysterious stranger, and the second stairway be almost empty at this hour. It’s in a residential tower, or at least what passes for one around here. 

"You know this place well," Himchan says. "How long have you been here?"

Youngjae shrugs. "I was born here. Never left."

There aren’t many ways to get off the Pit. Enlistment, conscription, or bribery are about it for those without credit to purchase a ticket out, and Youngjae has never seriously considered any of three.

"Never?" Himchan frowns.

Youngjae shakes his head. "'I don't exactly get to go on many vacations."

"Hmm," Himchan says. "Well. I hope you get to one day. Space is ..."

They step aside to let a delivery person on a bicycle past.

"What?"

Himchan shrugs. "It's everything, I guess."

"Everything?" Youngjae doesn't get what he means.

"All the possibility in the entire universe," Himchan says, sounding kind of like he’s quoting someone. "We've still only explored a fragment of our own galaxy. There are entire star systems we haven't surveyed, and there are thousands and thousands of galaxies beyond. There's no telling what we're going to find out there."

Youngjae snorts. "Yeah," he says. "If anyone were allowed to ..." He’s gotten too comfortable, too fast. Himchan has a way of making him feel too at ease. He barely caught himself in time. "I mean, yeah, when the Republic allows further exploration, well .... Just sign me up. Shoot me right out of the galaxy into never-never land. “

"Your name will be first on the list," Himchan says dryly.

Youngjae doesn't say anything else, because they're on a main platform now and it's more crowded. Late night revelers are spilling into and out of bars. Too many people to overhear their conversations. Too many people that Youngjae knows by name or by sight will asks questions if they see him with a tall, dark stranger.

"Hmm," Himchan says. "There's more of a night life here than I would have guessed."

"More nightlife than night," Youngjae says. Himchan is so terrestrial. "If you lived here you'd probably want to be distracted too."

"So how do you distract yourself?" Himchan smirks like he’s got Youngjae all figured out. 

"I don't know what you're thinking, but you're wrong," Youngjae mumbles. He's pretty much the most boring person in the world. He doesn't go out. He doesn't have friends. He keeps his head down and he works.

"I'm not thinking anything," Himchan says, all innocence. "What? Maybe you grow orchids in your free time. Maybe you crochet."

Youngjae rolls his eyes. "You are so terrestrial. Nobody grows _plants_." Maybe the Governor or one of the rich merchants, but no regular people do. There's no spare water, not even one drop. Every drop of moisture is captured and recycled through atmospheric containment, and nobody except the most extravagant take anything other than sonic showers. “I play a lot of computer games.” 

Himchan smirks, but he doesn’t say anything. Youngjae’s grateful. Besides, it’s not like there’s anything embarrassing about gaming. 

They're entering the central platform. The Pit consists of a dozen vertical towers rooted into the asteroid far below, connected to each other over the years by walkways and additions and stairwells. The central platform stretches across a dozen of these towers, nearly at the top level. The air is less close here, and there's a good view of the stars. All the large houses are up here, and the Commissary, and the warehouses that hold goods for export.

Youngjae doesn't spend much time up here. The Governor doesn't have any need for a space rat hacker. When his hyung was still around sometimes they'd come up here on a free day and look at the rich kids dressed in their exotic, brightly colored clothes, imported specially from some inner-galaxy fashion house. He hasn't been back up in a long time, but not much has changed. It's quiet here. There are a few lounges open, but mostly the streets are empty and the storefronts are dark. The windows in the big houses are dark too. Far down the street, past the Governor's house and the Republic building, the Commissary, open at all hours, catering to all needs, is the only building that doesn't look asleep.

Himchan takes everything in with a cool glance. "I take it this rock isn't totally bereft of civilization, then?"

Youngjae shrugs. "We export rare earth minerals," he says. "Caravans stop here, on their way further out. Someone's making credit off of it."

Himchan's laugh is bitter. "Someone always is."

Youngjae has only been to the Commissary once before, many years ago. This was before his father's accident. He'd had a mining job then, and had a real salary, credit and all. Normally he'd gone by himself to buy the supplies they needed, but this one time, for some reason, they'd gone as a family. Youngjae remembers the clean, bright, whiteness of the place: white gleaming walls and white floors and the shelves neatly lined with packaged goods. Not expired stuff, or defective, or the unpopular last season left overs shipped out to be resold in the minor settlements. Everything was new and pristine.

His father had bought him a blue shirt, and a piece of chocolate. He outgrew the shirt years and years ago, but he has it still, in the bottom of a drawer. The blue has faded, but it's still more vivid than anything else he's ever worn.

"Hmm," Himchan says. He does not look awed, and why should he be? He's terrestrial - hell, he might even be from Old Earth. He's seen all this before, and much more. This rock isn't all he'll ever known. It's a dry, withered little way station on his way back to better things. 

The woman working the counter is young and pretty. She looks up at Himchan expectantly, and seems not even to notice Youngjae.

"Good evening," Himchan says, smiling. "I'll have an Americano, and my friend here will have ..."

Now would not be the time to admit to Himchan that he's never actually had coffee. "Um, the same, please," Youngjae says.

The woman busies herself behind the counter, pressing buttons and pouring water from a glass bottle. There is steam, and a rich, new smell, and then she pours something dark into two little white mugs. They are ceramic, heavy and cool to the touch.

Himchan smiles again in thanks and hands her that black card. Her eyes widen. Even in the Republic Commissary, she must not see too many people with unlimited credit.

They sit on stools at the high counter. The clerk pretends to be busy with the dishes, but she is watching them. Youngjae wonders how good of spy Himchan can be, when everything he does seems to attract attention. Well, it's not his problem. He takes a sip of his drink ...

And sputters. It is scalding hot and very bitter, and he coughs a few times before he can stop himself.

Himchan chuckles. "Slowly," he says. "It's hot."

"Now you tell me," Youngjae grumbles.

He takes a smaller sip, more slowly this time, and tries to savor the taste. It's still bitter, but there's something rich and organic and complex about it that he thinks he could like. It tastes _real_ , like very few things do.

Himchan is watching him with a curious expression. "Well?"

Youngjae frowns. "What?"

"How is it?" He sounds amused.

"Oh," Youngjae says. "It's fine." He's not going to admit he's never had coffee before, not in front of Himchan. There are too many ways Himchan can lord that over him. Youngjae isn't ashamed of being an uncultured space rat, but he's not going to advertise the fact, either.

"Hey," Himchan says. "You don't have to be ashamed. I don't expect there are many people that want to trade Kona dark roast for a used circuit board."

Youngjae shakes his head. "Nope, not too many." He considers himself lucky when he can trade for anything more than nutrient bars, but he's not going to tell Himchan that either.

"The Republic -" Himchan pauses to sip his Americano. "- supports each colony according to its needs. Would it improve your lot out here if it did grant a license to import some Kenya reserve to one of these merchants?" He shakes his head, as if in answer to his own question. "It takes ten months for a caravan to get here from the inner galaxy, using the fastest route we know. And the government only has so many navigators. It takes too long and costs too much to waste any space in a freighter on frivolities. And what would all of you do with coffee? You don't have the water to brew it."

Youngjae nods. Himchan is right. Places like this - asteroid colonies on the edge of inhabited space, outposts on barely hospitable planets, the crumbling remains of old mining stations - are too distant and too unimportant. The government keeps the dripping lifeline of supplies flowing, but never more than that.

"But they brought coffee here for you," Youngjae mutters, even though he knows better.

Himchan nods. "That's right. They have to make sure there are a few comforts for whatever poor tax assessor and import agent gets stationed here, and for people like me who are passing through," he says, seemingly pleased even though Youngjae pointed out the hypocrisy inherent in his argument.

He finishes his coffee with a prim sip and sets the mug on the table. He’ll leave, when Youngjae has his data, and he’ll fly out through the black back to somewhere where a cup of coffee isn’t considered an unimaginable luxury. Youngjae will go back to his ten by ten life of fixing broken computers and stealing meaningless data and living a life that will attract as little attention as possible. 

Youngjae drinks the rest of his in a big gulp. It burns going down. Please, he thinks, make this easy. Let me finish. Let this asshole go on his way.

***

The program is not finished scanning when they get back to Youngjae's shop. It shows only 60% complete. Apparently the stolen disk is high density.

"Great," Youngjae says. That means it's going to be even more difficult to crack. "You better just settle back and relax. It's still going to be a while."

Himchan huffs, annoyed. "It's not going to take too long, is it? I don't want to miss my ride off this rock."

"Can't you just order some transport or cargo freighter to take you on board?" Himchan showed no compunction about ordering Youngjae to help him, so he's not sure why he couldn't just whip out his badge and boss his way onto a ship.

"Ugh," Himchan says. "And be stuck in deep space for months? The Galatic Intelligence Agency has faster ways to travel than along the caravan routes."

"Oh," Youngjae says. "Of course." Commercial spacecraft - in addition to paying exorbitantly for their trade licenses - are also restricted to the trade routes, and have to employ a Republic navigator. Youngjae's never even seen a navigator, but there are all kinds of rumors about them, from genetic engineering to alien invasion to artificial intelligence. They’re even more frightening and less substantial than Peepers. But of course the Republic's own spies wouldn't be subject to the same travel limitations as the more plebeian residents of the galaxy.

Himchan picks something up from one of the shelves near the door. He's restless, and he can't seem to help but touch. "Aren't you ever curious?"

Youngjae looks up. "About what?"

"About what's out there? About life outside of this rock. About where you might go, what you might do, who you might meet."

Youngjae shrugs.

"My brother got drafted," he says at last. "When I was eight."

Himchan's pale face is strange in the blue light from Youngjae's monitor.

"My father had died the year before." Youngjae doesn't really mind telling this story. It's just the facts. "Mining accident. My mother had a trade in used clothes, but then this station lost its import license for natural fibers, and her business dried up. I started offering to hack for people in exchange for what we needed."

"Where is she now?" Himchan sets whatever he'd been fiddling with back on the self. "Do you need to let her know you're okay?"

Youngjae shakes his head. "She died a few years ago."

"And your brother?" Himchan frowns. "Are you in touch with him?"

Youngjae shakes his head. “After he got drafted, it was like he disappeared. We didn't hear anything. Maybe he got hurt or something." He shrugs his shoulders, amused. "He was really smart. Maybe he got recruited by Galactic Intelligence Agency."

Himchan is blank for a moment. Youngjae wonders if talking about the agency crosses some invisible line of propriety. But then Himchan snaps back to attention. "Hmm," he says. "Oh, no. We're allowed contact with our families. Minimal, but even new recruits get a few hours of chat time a quarter."

"Oh," Youngjae says, and it feels like something heavy is sinking deep into his gut, falling fast. He hadn't _really_ thought that Youngwon had gotten recruited into some top secret spy agency and been forbidden from contacting them. The idea of Youngwon as a Peeper was ridiculous, but the ridiculous was preferable to the more mundane possibilities: that he was somehow incapable of calling them because of injury or death, or worse, that he didn't want to.

"Who knows though," Himchan continues, steam rolling right along. "I'm just a field agent. I get my assignments and I carry them out. There's plenty going on I don't know about. Spies keep secrets even from each other. Especially from each other." He grins.

Youngjae rolls his eyes. This all sounds kind of dramatic, and there's still an impossibly heavy dark weight in his stomach. "I hate to say this, but you're really not doing much to sell the image of the GIA as an impenetrable and all knowing body of superior beings."

Himchan shrugs. "Super being don't make good spies. They're not flexible enough. You get a genius, and they're going to spend forever trying to figure out the right way to do something, the best way, the most efficient way. Me? My aptitude scores are just average, but I can talk my way out of a jam better than anyone."

"I would never have guessed." Youngjae's tone is dry. Keep everything light, inconsequential. This is just banter between two friends. He tries not to think about what's going to happen when he cracks the file, or worse, if he can't.

"Come on," Himchan says. "You're done, right? I'm starving. Let's go find some real food."

***

They leave the main platform, still quiet and still. They head back down, taking the third stairwell this time. They don't go all the way to the level of Youngjae's stall, instead stopping off at a street about halfway down. This is the boulevard, and it's the closest thing in the Pit to a good time. The bars and restaurants here are still open. This isn't a safe area, necessarily; gang bosses come here, each with their own favorite club or bar. Dozens of tiny fiefdoms rubbing shoulders. Pretty people of all sorts - human and other - walk the street, advertising the bodily services they provide. Music spills out into the street. Lights twinkle.

There is a gleam in Himchan's eye. "This is more like it," he says. "That Commissary is like a mausoleum. Or a museum, maybe. So where are we going?"

They end up in the only restaurant on the boulevard that Youngjae ever frequents. It's down at the far end of the street, near to where the platform runs out and a dangerous scaffolding connects it to the next tower. There's a noodle shop there that serves good food: not adulterated with anything too dangerous, and very delicious. The owner is Youngjae's mother's cousin, and it's not beneath him to come here and beg for a bowl of noodles when times are particularly tough.

"Who's your friend?" Minkyung asks him when he walks in. She is old but she uses some kind of cosmetic treatment that makes her skin smooth and elastic. Her hair is tied in elaborate braids. 

"I'm Himchan," Himchan says, before Youngjae can say a word. "New around here, and Youngjae kindly volunteered to show me all the best that the Pit has to offer. He said you make the best bowl of noodles on this rock."

"Hmmm," Minkyung says. They don't get many outsiders. "I don't know why you came, and I hope for your sake you're not staying, but I can give you boys something worth eating, at least."

Himchan beams at her. Auntie Minkyung is tough, but Youngjae can tell she’s charmed.

The restaurant is pretty full for this hour of the night. The other patrons sit in pairs and trios, bent forward over their steaming bowls of cellulose noodles. The lighting is dim, not to create any particular ambiance but because they pay for electricity by the kilowatt, and dim light is cheaper than bright.

"Cozy place," Himchan says, leaning back in his chair.

Youngjae doesn't know what he's got to compare it to, but he knows it can't measure up well. "Honestly? You've traveled all over the galaxy. You're terrestrial. You might even have seen - you been to Old Earth, haven't you?"

Himchan just smiles, but says nothing.

Youngjae frowns. He's tried to keep quiet and keep his opinions to himself, but he doesn't need some handsome, imperious spy condescending to him. "You don't have to pretend, you know. This place is a dump. We _all_ know that. The only thing anyone wants here is to get out."

Himchan's smile disappears. "Do you want to get out?"

Youngjae shrugs. If he leaves, how will Youngwon ever know where to find him?

Himchan takes his silence to mean something else though. "Or do you want to stay and make this place better?" He sighs. "I have seen a lot. Been to Old Earth, to the rain gardens on Diplensi, to the pleasure planets of the Cheonguk system. They say that anything a person could ever want can be had on those planets, if you have the credit. But you know, the only difference between those places and rocks like this is that they're _wealthy_. They have the capital to outfit their own caravans, and the means to bribe the Department of Trade for extra licenses. They're not stuck halfway to never-never, eking along on nutrient bars and whatever surplus the government decides to ship out here."

"We do more than just eke along on our nutrient bars," Minkyung says. She's come up with their food. "They might be dense as space junk and essentially tasteless, but a little salt, a little of my special flavoring and you'd almost think you were eating real food."

She sets their bowls down, and truthfully it does look good although the cellulose noodles are almost indigestible and the vegetables are sad hydroponically grown shadows of their natural states and the nutrient bars, cleverly chopped and fried to resemble something like meat, still don't really taste like anything.

"Thank you, Auntie," Youngjae says.

"Of course," she says, patting him on the head. "I wish you would come up and see me more. You'd think you were in another system rather than just a few levels away."

Guiltily, Youngjae unwraps his chopsticks and avoids meeting her eyes.

"This looks fantastic, Ma'am," Himchan says.

"I don't know where you come from, young man, but you are the most handsome, cheerful liar I've seen in a long time." She smiles. "I do my best, but the Pit isn't any place for someone with culinary aspirations."

Himchan puffs up a little. "Trust me," he says. "I've had many worse meals on places with far more resources. You must be some kind of kitchen goddess."

She rolls her eye again, but smiles as she walks away. 

Youngjae takes a big bite of slippery noodles. It feels good, eating something with texture and flavor. Everyone gets their allotment of 21 nutrient bars a week, and most people try to trade for something better. Youngjae traded a few of his this week for a part he needed for a job, so it's been slim pickings for a while.

"Your aunt is a good cook," Himchan says. He does genuinely seem to be enjoying his food. "If she had access to a real kitchen, fresh supplies ... I think she could work magic."

Youngjae shrugs. "Yeah," he says. "But it's not going to happen."

"Maybe you could help her." Himchan says. "Come up here. Leave the chips and wires and disks behind and help her run this place. She must do good business."

Youngjae shrugs. "She does, but it's all exchange. She could be the most famous cook in the Interstellar Asteroid Belt and she'd still never have a single credit to her name."

"What about you?" Himchan slurps some noodles. The broth goes all over his face, and he wipes it off with a napkin. "Do you want to be the best hacker in the Interstellar Asteroid Belt? Or do you just want to stay in this Pit, and eke a living until you're done?"

He keeps coming back to that, like if he asks one more time Youngjae will admit that he’s just dying to book a passage on the first freighter out of here. "I like hacking. I mean, I'm good at it, and I have pretty steady business." Youngjae likes being good at things. He likes doing a good job. 

Himchan clucks. "But that doesn't mean you want to do it."

Youngjae shrugs. "I guess I haven't thought much about what I want."

Like all kids he went through phases. There was the phase when he spent every free second at the hologame parlor, and the phase when he spent hours scavenging junk to exchange for sessions at the music room. He wanted to be a professional gamer, and travel across the galaxy to tournaments in exotic locations. He wanted to be a singer and perform for the wealthy and sophisticated in beautiful concert halls. He dreamed about those things, once.

Then his father died, and his brother left, and his mother got sick. Now he doesn't dream of anything at all except the time when his family was whole and together.

He's not going to tell Himchan that though. "What about you? Did you dream about being a spy when you were a kid? I bet you thought it would be a lot more glamorous than this."

Himchan shakes his head. "Actually, no," he says. "I wanted to be a musician. I was even going to Academy for it."

"What happened?"

Himchan smiles. "I met a guy who made me realize there were better things to do, I guess."

Youngjae frowns. "Spying for the Republic?"

Himchan slurps up the last of his noodles. "The government's not perfect, kid, but they're doing something, at least. And I'm a part of it, even if just a tiny part. There's plenty of stuff that's fucked up. I know that. But I'd have no chance of making anything better if I were still sitting at Academy learning how to play the Lunar Dulcimer."

He stands up. The meal is apparently over, even though Youngjae isn't done yet. He shovels down the rest of his soup in a hurry. Himchan takes his credit card out of his pocket; but this is a noodle house on the Boulevard. There's no card reader here. Instead he takes something out of another pocket in his coat: a silver coin about the size of Youngjae's fingertip.

"Platinum," he says. "That ought to cover it, right?"

Youngjae can't tell if he's being sarcastic or if he's just that clueless about how things work here. That would cover many, many dozens of bowls of noodles. He's angry, but he can't quite say why. Himchan, with his terrestrial upbringing and his Music Academy, has to be pretty damn full of himself to talk about doing things and making things better. He has no idea what it's like here. Youngjae is _lucky_. At least he's only got himself to look after, and he doesn't need much. He doesn't know how his parents managed, raising two kids. The Pit is the very end of the known universe. They're clinging to this rock as tenacious as space barnacles, but the Republic is slowly but surely starving them out. There was an entire year when he was a kid when the gravity generators didn’t work, and everyone floated around several inches off the ground. The oxygenators are ancient. Wires run together like grapevine. Pipes are patched with anything on hand. And supplies come less and less frequently.

Sometime soon, everything just fall all to pieces. Those with credit will get out. Those with none had better hope the Republic decides they're worth rescuing. Otherwise they're space dust.

So fuck Himchan. Youngjae will crack his files, because in spite of Himchan's friendly patter he knows he has no choice. Then he can go back to Old Earth or whatever planet he came from, and things can go back to normal.

***

They walk back to the shop in silence, although the streets are not very quiet. It's late enough now that the earliest risers are waking. The street cleaners are gathering up discarded paper, foil wrappers, plastic bottles. Down below, at the lowest levels of the Pit, beneath anything inhabited, there are recycling centers where everything is formed and reformed and every last atom of utility is squeezed out of it. They can’t afford to let anything go to waste. 

Youngjae unlocks the door to his stall.

Himchan is curt. "Lock the door behind us. I'm going to sleep." He sounds tired. 

Youngjae does as he says.

Himchan lies down on the floor, and spreads his coat over himself. His face is in the shadows, and Youngjae cannot tell if he's really sleeping or just feigning.

Youngjae is not tired now. His anger and the coffee have made him shaky. He unlocks the machine that has been scanning Himchan's disk. The initial scan has finished. Just like Youngjae thought, it's encrypted using a triple key and bi-directional rotation. It's not going to be easy to crack, if he can manage it at all.

But failure isn't really a choice. He rolls his shoulders, pulls the keyboard forward, and gets to work.

***

Youngjae is deep underwater in a stream of data, fingers flying as he types commands. He is looking for patterns, meanings, clues. Himchan makes a muffled sleepy noise. Youngjae freezes. He's not used to having anyone else here.

He waits a moment, but Himchan is quiet. Still sleeping. It's been only a few hours since they got back. Youngjae hasn't made much progress in that time, and the little he has made is only a goad.

The thing about hacking is that when he gets in deep like this, it's not about _what_ he's trying to do. He could be cracking encrypted network keys for all the secured networks on the rock. He could be cracking someone's family recipes they decided to store in a locked file. It doesn't matter. The encryption is the enemy, and no matter how slippery and difficult it is, he knows he can crack it, even if he has to keep working until his vision is blurry and the text starts to swim in his monitor like little schools of black fish.

He scans another few lines of data. There - he recognizes that key. And that one. And then he sees a third. 

He grins. He's got the scent of this thing now. 

***

"Aren't you done yet?"

Youngjae nearly jumps out of his seat. His vision is swimming now, and his head aches, but he's _nearly_ there.

"Almost," he says.

Himchan looks refreshed, even though he couldn't have slept very well on the hard floor of Youngjae's stall.

"Good," Himchan says. "I'm leaving tonight, so you better be close."

"Tonight?" Youngjae isn't surprised, exactly, but the lack of sleep and the mental effort of the last few hours have left him foggy and exhausted.

Himchan's expression is hard to read. "My ride's coming tonight. It's been fun, but I wasn't really planning on vacationing in this half of the galaxy this year."

"Ah," Youngjae says. "Right. Well, I should be done by then."

Himchan's blank, strange expression melts into his more familiar grin: one sided and a little vicious. "I knew you could do it." He pats Youngjae's shoulder in a casual, friendly way.

It's nothing, of course, but Youngjae feels a sour twist in his stomach.

Time for another goodbye. It's a good thing he's got so much practice at them. He doesn’t even know why he would be sorry to see Himchan go. 

***

The lines of code speed past. This is it. This is the final key Youngjae needs to crack Himchan's files. He's so tired his bones hurt and he wants nothing so much as he wants to go to sleep, but it feels good to _win_ , if nothing else.

"Is there any place to get real food around here?" Himchan sounds restless and annoyed.

"Hmm," Youngjae says, distracted. This is the third cycle through this isogeny and the results look promising.

"Food," Himchan says plaintively. "I hate space travel on an empty stomach."

Youngjae rolls his eyes. He's sure whatever spacecraft has the privilege of transporting Himchan back to the civilized reaches of the galaxy is going to have much better dining options than anything the Pit can provide.

He doesn't even offer one of his nutrient bars. "There's a place a few platforms over that does pretty good dumplings."

Himchan sniffs, as if he doesn't find that suggestion entirely to his liking but isn't sure what else to say. "Do you want anything?"

Youngjae normally wouldn't turn down free food but he's so tired he's not hungry. "I'm fine," he says.

"Suit yourself," Himchan says, pulling on his long black coat.

Youngjae turns back to his monitor. The program is in its final step. He honestly has no clue what this is going to be: information about smugglers that the Republic is looking to bring down, the military secrets of intergalactic rebels. It could be anything. He's not even sure he wants to know. In spite of himself, he kind of likes HImchan, and he doesn't want to know what kind of terrible things he's doing in the name of the Republic.

He wants to pretend he's got a friend, if only for the rest of the day.

The scan finishes. Himchan’s disk contains just one file, in a standard image format. Youngjae frowns. Given the density of the data, he was expecting much more. All this, for one picture? 

Should he open it? It's tempting. This could be something he could profit from, something important that he could distribute online. Something that could save lives. Would that be a betrayal of Himchan's trust? Can you betray the trust of a spy who forces you to do his work?

He clicks.

The file open: it is a schematic. At first he doesn't know what he's looking at. Plans for a ship? Assembly instructions for some kind of weapon of war or intelligence? Something more complex and mysterious still? Could this be the plans for a faster than light engine or a time machine?

But then Youngjae sees a point labeled Alpha Centauri AB, and another, not far from it, labeled Earth.

This is a star map.

He zooms out, and increases his screen definition. The file is immense.

The whole galaxy is drawn out, with all the major star systems labeled, and running between them like the silver threads of a cobweb are thin lines. The lines don't go straight. There are perils to avoid. Black holes. Radiation traps. Wormholes through which ships have disappeared never to be seen again.

Space is perilous. Travel in space is more perilous yet. That's why the Republic mandates that every ship to embark on any interstellar journey must have a Republic Navigator on board. Only the Navigators know the secret routes between the stars. Only the Navigators can find the way.

Except here it all is, in this file, written out so that anyone can see it, and anyone with a ship and a little knowledge could chart a course.

Youngjae steps back from his machine. His heart is beating fast. How could Himchan have gotten this? How could such a thing even exist? In the entire galaxy, is there anything as valuable as this map? With this map, a man with money could charter his own freighter, independent of the onerous and sluggish Republic licensing process. Supplies - food, medicine, materials ... everything they lack - could flow out of the wealthy planets to all the backwaters of the galaxy. 

The medicine his mother had needed might have been affordable.

His father might not have had to take a dangerous, risky job mining asteroids just to eke out a few credits.

His brother, if living here were more like living and less like enduring, might not have left.

He closes his eyes and opens them. The map is still there.

What if this had been in the hands of rebels? There are people who fly blind. There are pirates and brigands and fighters who fly through space without the guidance of a Republic Navigator, using secret knowledge or hidden skill to avoid the traps of deep space.

What if this had been in the hands of rebels who were going to use it to do good? What if Himchan found out, and stole it back?

What if Youngjae, by cracking the file, helped him?

It makes his blood freeze.

He's always concerned himself with his own business. It's not his job to worry about what his clients are doing. He works for whoever offers the most.

But this ... this is different.

Himchan is handsome and friendly, but he's Republic scum. This information would help millions of people, and thanks to Youngjae, it's back in the hands of the Galactic Intelligence Agency.

The door opens. The little charm sounds.

Youngjae fumbles to minimize the window and call back up the command line. He types in something without even thinking, and executes it.

"Not done yet?"

Himchan's hand are full with containers of dumplings.

"Almost," Youngjae says. "Almost."

"The woman at your dumpling place didn't want platinum," Himchan says, bemused. "She didn't even want gold."

"It's easy to trace those things," Youngjae says. He opens his container and a good fresh hot smell rises from it. "Hard to get rid of them. What did you give her?"

"A stylus for a tablet I lost, a pack of gum, and a set of headphones."

Youngjae laughs. "She fleeced you. You could get twenty orders of dumplings for all that."

Himchan looks embarrassed. "How am I supposed to know these things? A pack of gum? It's not even good gum. I think it's stale."

Youngjae smiles, even though his stomach is roiling and weak. He needs to figure out what to do, which means he needs time. He can put Himchan off a little while longer, but then he's going to need to figure something out.

Cheeks full of dumpling, Himchan frowns at him. "Aren't you hungry? You've been working hard enough."

Youngjae is just holding his chopsticks in his hands. "Oh right. Sorry." He picks up a dumpling and takes a bite.

"Eat up," Himchan says, motherly. "You need to keep up your strength until you crack that file."

Of course. Youngjae nods. "Don't worry. I'm almost done."

***

Youngjae is stalling, and he doesn't know why.

He wants Himchan gone. He wants to go back to the way things were. He wants ...

He wants to know where this map came from and what Himchan intends to do with it. He wants to know if someone is being punished for losing this information. He wants to know if it will any difference, or none at all.

It's not his problem, but ...

Before Himchan came, it had been a long time since Youngjae had thought of anything at all except his games and his business and his small, enclosed little life. The past day - Has it only been that long? - has been terrifying and strange, but exciting too. There's a whole galaxy out there. Youngjae had forgotten.

Maybe he can use this as leverage. Maybe he can get Himchan to arrange passage off this rock for him. Maybe he can get Himchan to help him find his brother.

Really, that's all he wants. That's why he lurks in internet forums, looking for anyone who says they have a line on personnel data. That's why he's stayed here, waiting for his brother to return.

Himchan sighs. "Almost done?"

"Almost," Youngjae says. "It's just copying and restoring the encryption. They’ll never know you were there."

It's a lie. Himchan's copy has been ready for an hour.

He clicks into a thread on one of his regular forums. Some group out in the Septant system claims they've hacked into the master computer of a cargo ship and have rerouted it to Prelaxis 775 (a notoriously poor and polluted manufacturing planet - not high on the Republic's list when it comes to supply shipments).

Youngjae rolls his eyes. Everyone knows that ships in transit are off line. That's why they have the Navigators. They don't transmit any signals, and don't receive any. Only the Navigators keep them on course, without the benefit of any radio telemetry. Idiots on these forums love to brag. All they probably get themselves for their trouble is a visit from a Peeper.

But then, Youngjae never posts anything at all, and he's in the same boat.

He leaves the thread and browses through the others without reading anything. It's the same mix of actual hacking discussion and paranoid nonsense. He drums his fingers against table. He's just stalling now. There's no reason.

He turns to call to Himchan over - better just give him what he wants and let him go - when he notices something strange. There's a message box blinking in the corner of the screen.

Youngjae hadn't been logged into any messaging apps.

He opens it. The username is a garbled string of letters and numbers - nothing meaningful. Nothing he recognizes. 

_WHO GAVE YOU THAT FILE TO CRACK?_

It feels like his heart has been plunged into an ice bath.

Another message arrives.

_WE KNOW YOU. WE DO NOT WANT YOU._

His fingers hover over the keys, but what is he supposed to say in response? Is this some sick joke? Is it Himchan, trying to scare him into working faster?

_TELL US WHO GAVE YOU THE FILE. DESTROY THE COPY YOU MADE. YOU WILL NOT BE IN ANY TROUBLE, YOUNGJAE._

"Holy shit," he mutters.

Himchan looks up. "What?" His voice is sharp.

"Are you ... Are you messing with me right now?" Youngjae frowns at him. "If you're messing with me I'm ..."

"I'm not doing _anything_ ," Himchan says. "I'm not the computer guy, remember? What? What's happening?"

He comes up and stands behind Youngjae, reading over his shoulder.

"Fuck," Himchan mutters. "Fucking fuck."

"What is this?" Youngjae is starting to feel scared for real. Someone or something is _in his machine_. They're watching him. They might always have been watching him.

"GIA, I guess." Himchan shrugs. "I figured they wouldn't be watching anyone way out here. Guess I was wrong."

"GIA? What do you mean, GIA? I thought _you_ were GIA."

Himchan rolls his eyes. “Come one. Did you really think a Peeper would need to come to some run down little computer shop to get the data he wanted?” 

“You lied!” Youngjae says. His cheeks are hot. He’s suddenly furious, and he doesn’t quite know why. 

Himchan laughs. "Well, I guess honesty isn't my strongest suit, kid. But then, it's not yours either."

"What are you talking about?" Youngjae scowls at him. "I did everything you asked for. I thought I was going to get arrested or something if I refused you, and now there’s someone watching my machine."

Himchan rolls his eyes. "Don't play all innocent with me. You've had that file cracked for hours. You saw what was in it." He grins, sharp and unpleasant. "Guess the question is what you plan to do now."

Youngjae frowns. He doesn’t know _what_ to do now. He’s never been in this kind of situation before. He handles simple problems for unimportant people. What can he do now? Extort the government? He could demand a ticket off this rock, or some cushy government job on a temperate and well settled planet, or information about his brother. But everything is too unclear now. He doesn’t understand what’s going on, and what he needs to do first is start make sense of things. 

“Tell me who you are.” Youngjae thinks he has some right to know. He didn't ask to be caught up in all of this. He has a quiet, little life he's resigned to, if not happy with. He didn't want to be part of anything big or grand or hopeful.

Himchan shrugs. "I am a spy," he says. "But not for the Republic.” 

"For who then?" Youngjae folds his arms. He can feel his temper rising. He doesn't want to let Himchan see though. He knew Himchan was lying to him. It shouldn't make him upset.

"I really shouldn't tell you. You're already in a world of trouble kid. They're in your machine. They've got your number now."

"Yeah," Youngjae says. "Don't remind me." He still feels the buzz of anxiety in the pit of his stomach, but at least the terrible, muscle freezing fear has dissolved. He still needs to figure out what he's going to do, but at least now he thinks he might be able to.

He doesn't expect any help, so he'll need to be able to. 

He’s not letting Himchan off that easily. “Who do you work for? What else have you lied about?” 

“I’m the first mate on a ship. We’re … an independent operation.” 

Pirates, then. Not a Republic agent, but a pirate. 

Himchan frowns. "I didn't lie about everything. I did go to an Academy. I did study music. I was born on a planet - not Earth. In the Barnard system."

"Wow," Youngjae says. "You were sort of truthful about a few things. I'm touched."

Himchan frowns more. "I'm a pirate, kid. I came to you because I heard you were the best hacker on this rock, and I needed to get that file out fast, before the disk was missed." He signs. "Listen. I'm one of the good guys. Yong - I mean my captain wants to make things better. He's not out to make a profit. He's gonna share these maps."

"And what happens when they trace the files back to me?" Youngjae feels his voice rise in a high, hysterical pitch.

Himchan looks away. "I can get you out of here, if you want. Come with me. The captain will drop you off anywhere you want. Anywhere in the entire galaxy."

"Where am I supposed to go?" Youngjae has nothing else. This stall is it. The idea of following Himchan and letting some strange ship transport him far away from the only place he's ever known is terrifying. He would be drifting free, untethered. "What am I supposed to do? I have a good life here. People know me, and come to me for business. I’m happy."

Himchan's face is cold. "Don't kid yourself. You aren't happy." He picks up his coat.

“Hey!” Youngjae frowns. “Where are you going?” 

Himchan’s expression is blank. “To finish this job, and meet my ride.” 

“You’re just going to leave?” 

Himchan frowns. “This isn’t a game, kid. Lots of people - myself not the least among them - went through a lot of shit to get this information. I’m not going to risk losing it because you want to sit here and play pattycake until the boogeymen come and find you.” 

Youngjae’s eyes are burning. “You’re asking me to drop everything and leave my _home_.” 

Himchan sighs. “Youngjae,” he says. “I’m sorry, but this place isn’t a home.” 

That’s not true. It can’t be. Youngjae will figure something out. He’ll tell them Himchan threatened him, that he broke the encryption with a gun to his head. They won’t know he’s lying. He’ll tell them he had no choice and nothing will have to change. They don’t know everything - do they? 

“I’m going,” Himchan says. “If you want a ride off this rock, this is your chance.” 

He waits, and then he waits another moment. 

Youngjae closes his eyes. “I’m staying here,” he says. 

Himchan shrugs. The door slides shut behind him. Okay. Youngjae’s alone again. Now he has to figure out how to make this all go away. 

***

But there’s still the issue of his bugged machine. 

Youngjae wants to close the message box, wants to log-out, but they'll know. They're watching him somehow.

_WE KNOW HE LIED TO YOU. WE KNOW HE TOLD YOU THAT HE WAS ONE OF US._

Youngjae closes his eyes and types.

_He had a badge._

_STOLEN. WE DO NOT BLAME YOU FOR BEING DECEIVED._

Youngjae looks around his shop. Every shelf is familiar. He knows every corner and every cranny, and yet somehow they're here, watching him.

This is the only place that's felt like home for a long time. It's not much, but it's his. Now he feels exposed and strange. Someone is watching him.

That someone is not a patient person.

_WE KNOW HE LEFT YOU. WE DO NOT KNOW WHO HE IS. YOU CAN TELL US THAT._

Youngjae should tell them. Himchan broke who knows how many laws to get that file. He's part of a pirate crew that has robbed who knows how many decent Galactic citizens of their property and livelihood.

But despite all this, Youngjae's pretty sure that Himchan is a good person. At least, he seemed that way, in spite of everything. A criminal, sure, but Youngjae is a criminal too. Hacking is illegal, and maybe the degrees are different, but the fact is the same. They're both on the wrong side of the law.

_Why should I do that?_

_HE LEFT YOU AND WE DO NOT YET KNOW WHO HE IS_. There is a pause. Youngjae's heart is beating in his throat.

_WE DO NOT KNOW KNOW WHO HE IS, BUT WE KNOW WHO YOU ARE, YOO YOUNGJAE, AND WE KNOW WHERE TO FIND YOU. WE HAVE AGENTS ON DELTA 5606323-1. WE KNOW WHERE YOU -_

Youngjae kicks the power supply out of the wall. His foot catches on wires and pulls a whole rack of machines down. Something fragile shatters, and he closes his eyes. He's spent so long building this all up, and now he's going to have to trash it. He grabs a duffel bag from the shelf and shoves in some clothes, some nutrient bars, his best machine, whatever a few small personal effects - the tee shirt his dad bought him, a picture of his brother, a letter his mother wrote him once. 

He pushes things off the shelves into a jumble on the floor. Hopefully if the GIA does show up ... when they show up ... this will make it harder for them to find what they're looking for. Hopefully there will be nothing for them to find at all. He pushes and shoves and kicks and it actually feels really great. He’s screaming at the end of it, and his chest hurts, but the shelves are bare and the floor is covered in shattered plastic and glass. Fifteen minutes, and everything is in ruins. Dust hangs in the air. And that's it.

Out in the streets it is early evening and everything is crowded. Kids push past on little scooters and teenagers collect in the holo arcades. Youngjae pulls his hood up, and keeps to the busiest streets. It is probably his imagination, but he thinks he sees someone out of the corner of his eye, following him from some way back through the crowd. Up a flight of stairs, through a quiet alley lined by houses and apartments. Ducking under a closure sign and through a platform pitted with rust. It's not safe, but Youngjae is fast and light on his feet. He comes out in a platform full of glassblowers and shops that make neon signs and repair LCD displays.

There _is_ someone following him. He can see the man, twenty or thirty yards back and careful to stay behind the screen of the crowd. He's tall and anonymous and there is something that makes it hard to focus on his face. It's slightly blurred, like the resolution is too low. How is that even possible? Youngjae glances back over his shoulder, and looks back again, and the man is always there in the crowd, even though it's hard to place him sometimes.

"Fuck," Youngjae mutters. He starts to walk faster. This isn't a good place to lose someone. It's just the one long street. There's no where to turn off until you get the the end of the platform and climb up to the Boulevard. A pair of men give him a dirty look as he shoves through their conversation.

"Sorry!" But he's already fifteen meters down the street. His bag bangs against his back heavily. The man is moving faster too, but he's not running. It's almost like he's gliding. There's something smooth and unnatural about the way he's moving that makes Youngjae's blood run cold.

He pushes past a knot of men standing on the corner of an alley, and the stairs are in sight. A few long strides and he’s on the first step. His feet bang on the rusted iron. There’s enough pickpocketing that people don’t spare him a second glance. Just another kid, on the run from or running for the law. Doesn’t matter which. 

His breath is coming fast. The air isn’t oxygenated to Earth levels. It’s not supposed to make a difference - human beings are adaptable and well suited for a wide range of environments, is the official Republic line - but it makes running almost impossible, an exercise more in agony than endurance. 

The man is at the foot of the stairs too. Youngjae can see him better now. He looks normal enough: no outstanding features, but not so perfect or regular that he is uncanny. Just a normal guy, except that his eyes have no whites. 

Two things happen then at the same time. The man raises his arm, and he’s holding a gun. This makes Youngjae startle and trip, but rather than smashing face first into the rusty stairs, he hits something soft and solid. There’s also a shatteringly loud noise, and a smoky smell, and for a moment Youngjae thinks he’s been shot. Then he looks up, and realizes that the soft solid thing was Himchan, and it was Himchan’s gun he heard, not the Peeper’s. 

“This was a bit more of an enthusiastic reunion than I was expecting,” Himchan says, as Youngjae scrambles to his feet. “But it’s nice to see you again too.” 

The Peeper is on the ground, and a crowd is gathering. “You shot him?” 

Himchan shrugs. “He was going to shoot you, and then I would have had to live with unbearable guilt forever. ‘Handsome Young Cybercriminal shot to death after Involvement with Notorious Pirate.’” 

Youngjae blushes a little at ‘Handsome Young Criminal’. He isn’t going there though, not when he’s still seeing spots and his heart is racing for entirely _different_ reasons. “Are you really a notorious pirate?” 

Himchan shakes his head. “Not yet, exactly. But Yongguk - he’s the captain - is the younger brother of the Rose of Aquila, so we’ve got a good pedigree to work with.” 

“Wow,” Youngjae says. Even he has heard of the Rose of Aquila. She’s the captain of one of the most infamous pirate crews in the galaxy.

“Right?” Himchan still has Youngjae’s arm, and he’s half dragging him up the steps. “If you hurry up, we should be meeting him in just a few minutes. He said he was gonna sneak into the southern dock, and I’ve never known Yongguk to be late for a party.” 

“We?” 

Himchan stares blankly. “You’re coming with me, kid.” 

Youngjae rips his hand away. “I’m not a kid. And who says I want to come with you? I know this place isn’t much, but it’s my home.” 

Himchan sighs. “We really don’t have time for this. If I leave you here, they’re going to haul you in for the murder of that agent and who knows what else. I think I’d feel even guiltier if that happens than if I’d just let you get shot.” He smiles. “You don’t want me to have to live with that guilt, do you? All those sleepless nights, the bad dreams, the …” 

“Okay, okay,” Youngjae says, annoyed, terrified, and even … happy. “I guess I don’t want to put you through all that.” Himchan is nearly pushing him up the stairs, and he can hear the crowd growing louder behind. “How did you know where I was?” 

Himchan snorts. “Please,” he says. “I’m not much with computers, but I am a very good spy. I bugged you.” 

“What? You bugged me? When? When you left? How could you …” 

“As soon as I walked into your shop, kid,” Himchan says. “I heard you were a reliable man for any kind of work, but I wasn’t taking chances.” 

Youngjae scowls. “I can’t believe you bugged me.” 

Himchan smirks. “Good thing for you I did. You would have been lunch for that Peeper if I hadn’t.” 

Youngjae’s chest hurts and his head hurts and he doesn’t know why. They reach the top of the stair, and head left, towards the spaceport. “... They don’t really eat people, do they?” 

Himchan laughs. “No, they don’t. Hurry up. Our ride should be here and something tells me the fine Republic customs agents aren’t going to buy Yongguk’s story about delivering sixty Velan pegasi for long.” He grabs Youngjae’s hand, and they start to run.


End file.
